by Lina Ellina
“So he might have been involved in the sugar business,” Lorenzo surmised.
“Perhaps... In the late fifteenth century, the sugar cane industry in the Mediterranean declined partly because of the newly established sugar mills on the Atlantic Islands, partly because of worker shortage caused by warfare or plague, and partly because of the increasing popularity of cotton plantations which were less labor intensive, hence more profitable.”
“His successors might have made their fortune with cotton then,” Lorenzo took a wild guess.
“Maybe. The discovery of the Atlantic trade routes caused the stagnation of the island’s economy,” Marina added broodingly.
“Still, they might have lived a happy life here for all I know,” Lorenzo said with a smile, and Marina shot him a pensive glance. “You don’t think so?” he challenged her.
“We’re just speculating here, right? Life in Cyprus has not been easy, you know. Its geographical position has been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, its location is both geopolitically and economically important. On the other hand, the island’s nine thousand years of history is a series of alternation of conquerors whose only interest has consistently been making profit at the expense of the inhabitants and the natural resources.”
“Conquerors all over the world have only self-interest in mind.”
“Yes, that’s true. But can you imagine how unbearable life must have been during the Ottoman period, for instance, to make a number of Latins become Muslims in order to survive? If that were the case with your ancestors, it will be next to impossible to trace them.”
“One can only try!” Lorenzo said and took the desert menu the waitress handed him.
41 - 1467
Marin visited his uncle in his office in the palace in Nicosia, in what used to be the Knight de la Baum’s estate. When the Lusignan palace was destroyed in the Mameluke invasion in 1426 and King Janus was taken prisoner, the knight’s estate was turned into the royal residence.
The meeting turned out better than he had expected. Andrea Cornaro seemed quite pleased with his report. Only when Marin mentioned the two hundred sezins, Andrea’s gaze bore into him. If he thought the price was too high, he never said it. Instead, he gave Marin free rein to run the mill and the estates as he saw fit, as long as he kept the production up and running and the profits accruing. Marin even got the green light for his cotton project, too, and he was eager to set it up.
Andrea suggested having lunch together, but the meeting was cut short when the bailli[1] requested exigent audience with the Auditor of the Kingdom. Marin bid Andrea goodbye and headed to the stables, sauntering through the beautiful palace gardens adorned with marble statues, ponds with goldfish, water lilies, and fountains. It was a synthesis of infinite bright colors of flowers, citrus, olive, carob, and pine trees.
[1]The Head of the Secrète, the king’s central financial office
42 - 2011
A waiter wished them goodnight, and Lorenzo and Marina walked to a nearby elevator. He glanced at the clock on the wall surprised to see it was almost midnight, and he insisted on walking her to the car.
As they stepped outside, Marina shivered in the chill of the night. Instinctively, Lorenzo wanted to rub her arms and keep her warm but thought better of it and held himself back. They reached the car, and Marina opened the door to the driver’s seat.
“Thanks for dinner. It was just... great.” She offered him a gentle smile.
Lorenzo took her hand and brought it to his full lips. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Marina. Drive safely.”
She flashed one last smile at him, wished him goodnight, and got into the car while Lorenzo stood there waiting for her to turn the engine on and drive away.
As Marina went down the slope toward the old coastal Lemesos-Pafos road, she lowered the car window and let the icy cold air in to keep her alert. She feared she had a drink too many. She played this unusual evening, her first fine dining with a handsome Italian client, over in her mind and wondered how she could possibly help him track his ancestor. She made a mental note to check out a few websites on the Internet when she got home.
Lorenzo walked back in, wearing a self-satisfied grin with his decision to come to Cyprus and his choice of a private guide.
43 - 1467
Marin reached the mud-brick house as the sun started to lower in the sky. He went up the three steps, found the house door open, and let himself in.
With her sleeves rolled up and the ribbons of her chemise undone, Elena was struggling over a cauldron with boiling water. She was so absorbed beating and spinning the laundry that was soaking in lye with a tree branch, which served as a washing battoir, that she didn’t hear him come in.
“Here, let me!” he offered and took the tree branch out of her hands. Startled, she brought her hand to her chest taking a step back, almost forgetting to breathe.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” Marin said and smiled gently at her.
Realizing the state of her chemise, Elena turned her back to him without uttering a word, tied up the ribbons, and made herself decent. She dried the sweat from her flushed face with her sleeve. She then lifted the embroidered cloth, decorated with small shells at its fringes, from the spout of the terracotta jug with the vertical handle and the grooved neck.
The jug, along with the rest of the tableware, was part of the dowry her grandmother had left her. It was sgraffito[1] from the workshop in Lemba, on the outskirts of Paphos. The rough, dark red clay was decorated with floral patterns with tiny spirals, executed in very fine green and brownish yellow lines, using oxide of copper and iron.
She poured herself some water and gulped it down. “Thanks,” she finally said.
“How long am I supposed to torture the laundry?” and myself, he asked a few minutes later feeling flushed, too.
“A couple of hours,” she replied calmly.
“Seriously?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Marin, who had never been house-trained, had no idea how long the laundry usually took, but the conspicuous way she pressed her lips together made him suspicious.
“No, I’ve already done the first hour, so it’s just one more hour for you.”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked hopefully and watched her smirk.
She took the stick out of his hands, lifted a cloth, and offered her diagnosis.
“Done. How about you put your strong muscles to work and carry the cauldron and empty it outside while I hang the laundry?”
“Okay.” Marin shrugged. He no longer found her unconventional manner strange. On the contrary, it fascinated him.
When the laundry was hung out on bushes to bleach in the sun and dry, he quickly got the money issue out of the way, eager to proceed without further obstruction with his conquest plans.
“Thank you, signore. You are a true cavalier – a man of your word,” Elena said, taking the pouch with the two hundred sezins. She had half expected him to go back on his word.
She took to slicing the mushrooms she had gathered earlier on, and Marin picked up a knife to help her finish, so as to ultimately have her full attention. Elena cast him a curious glance that he pretended not to have seen. When she finally let the mushrooms dry outside in the sun, Marin saw his opportunity.
“I wish you would call me Marin, and I would like to call you Elena.”
He looked deeply into her eyes and gave her his most seductive smile, but Elena held his gaze without returning his smile.
“Signore, I would like to get one thing straight. The money has bought you my timber - just that!” she said and assumed a posture of angry defiance.
Marin swallowed hard. In his scenario, they would be on a first-name basis by now, and before the night fell, she would be falling in his arms.
“Have I insulted you in any way, signora?”
He appeared offended. In his experience, women would be startled by such a direct offense and would smooth-talk him seeking rec
onciliation.
Elena needed a moment to think. She picked up her knife again and started removing the hard parts of the artichokes she had reaped in the morning, so as to preserve the hearts in olive oil and vinegar for the winter time.
“No, signore. And I would like to keep it that way.” Elena wouldn’t back down so easily - master or no master.
What? Marin tried to keep his wits about him. It irritated him that she wouldn’t sit still.
“Does that mean we can’t call each other by our Christian names?” he insisted in an innocent tone of voice.
“I’m afraid I don’t know you all that well, signore.” Elena kept looking at the artichoke in her hand.
“That is something I would very much like to change, signora,” he played along.
“In the course of time, perhaps,” she said warily.
It was high time for Marin’s contingency plan. Out of his doublet, he produced a sheet of paper and charcoal.
“All I want is a friend. Someone I don’t have to talk about business to. Someone I can relax with and sketch together, spend time together.” He gave her his most irresistible smile.
Elena looked at the handsome young man through half-closed eyes. She could imagine that a master with his looks was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. She also knew her chores wouldn’t get done all by themselves while she spent the afternoon with him.
“Signore, I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but I still need to feed the animals, clean the stable, finish picking the oranges, make marmalade, prepare dinner, and give Ioanna a bath before feeding her. As tempting as your suggestion may be, I cannot shirk my responsibilities.”
“Why don’t I help you with the animals and the fruit picking, and you can take care of dinner and Ioanna. I’m sure the marmalade can wait until tomorrow.”
Elena stared at him unprepared for such a response while Marin picked up two buckets and walked outside.
[1]The most common technique of Byzantine ceramic pottery
44 - 2011
Marina’s heavy eyelids opened with difficulty as she reached for her cell to check the time. It was eight-fifty. Her eyelids shut once more before she sprang up in bed. Eight-fifty? Damn it! She would be late. Dashing to the bathroom, she decided to skip coffee. She hurriedly put her black jeans and boots on. She slipped into a red jumper she pulled out of her wardrobe and grabbed her jacket, her cell, her bag, and her keys.
She rushed to the car and took shortcuts through backstreets to get to the freeway, avoiding the morning traffic. She put her foot on the accelerator and fixed her gaze on the road. She was thankful that the A6 was unusually quiet and that there was no police speed control.
She exited onto B6 at Petra tou Romiou and checked the time. With a little luck, he might find her waiting for him in the lobby – that is if he wasn’t the punctual type of client. Most holiday makers aren’t, she comforted herself. She slowed down at the gate of the Intercontinental – Aphrodite village complex, raised her hand to greet the guard, and fished her ringing cell phone out of her bag.
“We missed you at the bowling game last night,” Katerina cut to the chase – like always.
“I was working. I’ve an Italian client until the end of the week, remember?”
“What? You were working so late?”
Marina parked the car by the hotel entrance. “Well, he invited me to dinner, so I got home a bit late.” She tried to sound casual about it.
“Dinner?” Katerina asked, expecting juicy details.
Marina locked the car and walked briskly to the entrance. “It’s nothing like that. I just got soaking wet in the torrent and by the time my clothes were dry, it was already dinner time. That’s all.”
“Is he cute?”
“He’s okay.” Marina couldn’t hide the smile in her voice.
“You like him!”
“Listen! I’m already in the lobby and late. We’ll talk. Okay?” she said while her eyes scanned the lobby, but he was not there.
She breathed a sigh of relief that soon turned into a yawn.
“Rough night?” his voice came from behind her.
Marina turned on her feet and saw his clean-shaven face. “Uh, good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than you, by the looks of it,” he said, not failing to notice the black circles around her eyes. Lorenzo refrained from noticing that she had kept him waiting – again. “This way,” he said as he stretched his arm to show the way and led her to Eleonas restaurant.
“The truth is I didn’t sleep much last night,” she said almost apologetically.
“Too much partying?” The words slipped out.
“Nothing as exciting as that. Too much studying.”
She welcomed the smell of freshly brewed coffee in her nostrils. Her drowsy brain was craving for caffeine like the soil for rain after a period of extensive drought.
“You’re a student? How many years does one have to study to become a guide?”
“Just one. I’ve already done that. I’m doing my master’s now. I’m defending my thesis on the twenty-first. Then I can start looking for a full-time job,” Marina said while picking up a plate at the breakfast buffet.
“That sounds daunting. I wouldn’t mind cooking for presidents or kings, but speaking in front of an audience…” He left his sentence unfinished and pinched some smoked salmon.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. Agoraphobia and guided tours don’t combine well,” Marina said, helping herself to various cheeses from the cheese platter.
“So being a guide is not your full-time job.” Lorenzo pulled out the chair for her when they reached their table.
“Thank you. I like being a guide, but this is just a seasonal occupation. Who’s going to pay the bills all year round?” Marina asked rhetorically and gulped her coffee in an attempt to recharge her malfunctioning brain cells.
“So there is no one in your life?” He topped her cup with more coffee.
“Thank you. No, not any longer.”
“It can’t have been long ago,” Lorenzo observed, and Marina looked up at him.
“How can you tell?” She furrowed an eyebrow.
“I sense resentment in your voice.” He took a sip of his coffee and held her in an examining look.
Marina shook her head. “Well, you know how it is when you’ve been best friends all your life and it’s like destiny to be together, and then romance fades away, you grow apart, he starts cheating, and all that... The worst part is that he doesn’t leave my mom alone until she reveals my new phone number and address to him.” Marina sighed. Why was she telling him all this? She took a bite of her freshly-baked croissant to stop talking.
She mentioned her boyfriend’s cheating lightly, but Lorenzo noticed her wince and thought it wiser to change the subject. “You were right.”
She finished chewing up and swallowed quickly. “About what?”
He gave an amused smirk at the sight of her raised eyebrow.
“The view from my balcony overlooking the Mediterranean is breathtaking.”
Marina was grateful that he suavely saved the day. “It’s Aphrodite’s birthplace,” she said and finished off her croissant.
“And I thought the twelve gods on Mount Olympus were Greek!”
He brought his index finger to the corner of his lips to show her there were crumbles on her face.
She followed his lead, cleared her throat, and said, “Well, according to Homer, Aphrodite was a Cypriot goddess. She was born emerging from the foam of the sea, right there where those rocks interrupt the endless blue of the coast. The moment she was born, a white rose burst into a flower as a welcoming gift from the gods and a message of love. According to mythology, when she ran barefoot to save her beloved Adonis, her feet bled. And that’s how the first red rose appeared. In any event, a lot of sites and traditions here are associated with the goddess of beauty and love. Pilgrims would come from faraway places to worship her here, just as several centuries late
r pilgrims would make a stop here on their way to the Holy Land.”
He flashed a smile at her. “Is there a legend for everything here?”
“What can I say? Cyprus is the stuff myths are made of. We like to keep legends alive... This very same location is also associated with Digenes, a Byzantine hero. Legend has it that he was a frontier guard who kept the Saracens away by hurling that huge rock over there into the sea and destroying their ship.”
“He must have had some extra-terrestrial powers,” Lorenzo teased, looking at the large size of the rock.
“Well, it’s a legend. According to another legend yet, Digenes’s hand is imprinted on top of Mount Pentadaktylos which literally means five fingers.”
“Let me guess. It has five mountaintops.”
“Yes, it does. You are getting good at this.” They locked eyes and laughed.
45 - 1467
Elena chopped some firewood for the fourni[1] in the yard and filled it with loaves of sesame bread, olive bread, and terebinth bread with a peel. She meant to have done that in the morning, but Ioanna kept crying, and she never came round to it. She then simmered some stew for dinner.
Humming, she picked some pink wild mountain roses to adorn the vase and to make rosewater for Ioanna’s bath. The public baths were too far away. Elena would often wash in the stream, but for Ioanna, she used a large bucket as a tub. She then crushed some lavender, burned it, and the room was filled with a relaxing fume.
She checked herself in the mirror and anointed her face with a cream she had made herself and her hair with some perfumed oil. She had just undressed Ioanna for her bath when Marin appeared with the buckets filled with oranges.
He put them down and produced an amethyst violet tulip that he secured gently behind her ear. He took a step back and gave her a wide smile.
“Just beautiful!”
Elena was grateful Ioanna’s cooing gave her an excuse to turn away from him. She lifted her up and checked the water temperature in the tub with her elbow.